Tough
by radiohippie
Summary: A story of Brendan's experiences as a teenager in Belfast.  Dealing with the hardships of life and love and trying to figure out what it really means to be a man.   Rated M for Language  ETA: It's not just language anymore.
1. Chapter 1  Power of Persuasion

**Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction ever, inspired by a comment on my blog (Stendan Watch), suggesting a Hollyoaks spinoff called "Belfast High." That comment gave me the idea to write a story about young Brendan, exploring what made him the dark and complex character he is now. Please, by all means, tell me what you think. I'm new at this and you're feedback would be appreciated. Enjoy! **

Chapter One: Power of Persuasion

"Brady!"

I don't really know why I'm sitting in this alleyway by myself. Nothing to do besides, I guess - don't wanna go home, really. Pete's coming up the alley with a bunch of his friends. I run with them too, sometimes, but they only put up with me. That's the problem I always seem to have: too many enemies, not enough friends. Pete's the only one who ever really bothered to get to know me. His ma and my ma were good friends and we stayed with them a while when my dad left us. Peter and I have been friends ever since.

"Brady, a few of us are going to the shops to scope out birds and that, you wanna come?" It's nice of Pete to try to include me. The other guys all think I'm a bit strange.

"Aw, Hamill, Brady don't wanna come. Do ye?" Barry's a dickhead. Massive body, miniscule brain. The guy's built like a bus and goes out of his way to let me know I'm not really part of the gang.

I stare up at his fat, stupid face. I don't really want to go with them, no. But Pete's going, and I'd rather hang with Pete and his stupid friends than mope around town by myself all day. I look at Pete. He knows I don't want to go.

"Why don't you guys just g'on ahead and we'll catch ye up." Pete's country accent makes him the most likeable of the bunch. With a wink and a smile, he's usually able to get a number or two, though most of the girls he chats up can only make out about half of what he's saying.

Barry looks like he's about to say something, then probably realizes that not having Pete winking at the girls increases his chances of getting their attention. Stupid arse doesn't realize it's his fat face and the way he lumbers about spitting everywhere that makes him so damn unappealing.

Barry and the guys lumber off, leaving Pete standing over me in the alley. He puts out his hand, which I accept, and he helps me up. "What're ye doin' here again, Brendan?"

I straighten my jacket. It's an old thing my ma had bought me a few years ago - much too small, but she couldn't really afford to buy me a new one. Well, I guess she could if she'd stop drinkin' so much. Sometimes when Pete and I go down to the shops I see a couple that catch my eye. I've always wanted a leather jacket, like some of the other guys have. It makes you look tough - lets people know they shouldn't mess with you. But I don't have enough money. Pete and I have been working to fix that - buying ciggies and selling 'em to the younger kids at school. It's slow going, though. We've been trying to come up with something more lucrative for weeks - some scam we could pull and what.

"It's a nice day for a little sit-down." He raises his eyebrow at me, and I just shrug my shoulders. "Don't really want to go home, is all."

Pete leans against the opposite wall, picking with his fingernails - it's a habit of his, especially when he's thinking something up. "Me cousin Alan's up for a week or two, stayin' with us n'all. Him and me brother cookin' up somethin' wicked - said we could have a piece if we keep our heads down. You in?"

I grin - Tommy's one of the better scammers on the street. Not often he lets us run with him. "Yeh, sure. Thank ye, by the way. For not draggin' me along with them lot. Not in the mood." I look at him a moment. "Why d'you hang out with those guys?"

Pete shrugs. "You know how it is: when you want something done, you use what you can to your advantage. I'm not stupid, Brendan, they make me sick some times, but what're ye gonna do?" He pauses for a second. "Guys like us have something that guys like them don't have."

"And what's that?"

"The power of persuasion. And I don't mean intimidation, I mean _persuasion_. Making someone _want_ to do everythin' you ask 'em to." There's fire in Pete's eyes. I see it sometimes when he's cooking up a really good scam. He's right - Pete's not the same as all the other guys - he's meant to go to the top. But me?

"I'm not the same as you, Peter. People don't wanna listen to me, they don't even wanna look at me."

Pete grabs me by the shoulders. "You just don't know the secret yet, Brady. You can charm the socks off of girls, I've seen ya. But blokes are different. You've gotta be tough, Brendan. You just gotta do something so big that everyone'll be scared of you - everyone'll wanna be on your side."


	2. Chapter 2  King of the Street

Chapter Two - King of the Street

The Hamill flat is small. That's pretty much all that can be said of it - it's nothing to look at, really, though Pete's ma likes to have the place all neat and tidy. Pete tells me she's out at work today, as he leads me into the flat. Pete's brother, Tommy is there - he's bigger than Pete, though still shorter than I am, but bulkier. He's a couple years older than we are - twenty - and usually hangs around with a tougher crowd than Pete and I are used to. Tommy likes the drink and gets into a lot of scraps. He once got in a knife-fight and put a guy in hospital. I've always respected him for that.

Tommy's sitting on the sofa with a beer. "Well, if it isn't Shady Brady! Grab a drink, sit down!"

I stare at him. "It's noon, Tommy."

He glances at the clock. "So it is! Well, suit yerself."

As Tommy takes another swig, I hear a door close in the hallway. Pete's cousin Alan comes out into the living room. He's rather small and thin, with a round face and big brown eyes. I'm kind of surprised, actually, that this is the cousin with the connection. He looks a little too… _delicate _to be hanging around with Tommy and his crowd.

Alan gives us a big toothy smile. "Hiya, Pete. And you must be Brendan then," he shakes my hand. "Tommy was just talkin' about ye."

I eye Tommy suspiciously. "What was he sayin'?"

Tommy chuckles. "Just that I think you and Pete here would be perfect for the job Alan and I have been cookin' up, if you're interested."

Alan joins Tommy on the sofa, while Pete sits in the chair. I remain standing, skeptical. "You've never wanted to work with us before."

Tommy smirks at me. I can tell he appreciates my asking a few questions before accepting whatever he's got on offer. Never buy a horse without looking in its mouth, or something like that. "You know the crowd I run with, Brady. Tough, but stupid. I've seen the way you and Pete work, you're smart. Pete's got charm and you, Brady… I've seen you backed into a corner - you're nuts." Tommy's looking at me dead serious like. "I'm not foolin' ye about. Channel that aggression, use it to your advantage, and you'd be king of the street, mate, no fuckin' lie."

I've got chills runnin' up the back of my neck. Maybe this was what Pete had been talking about earlier. Other blokes have seen me lash out before, they know not to mess me about. Something inside me just snaps and I lose it. But I'm rarely one to make the first move. Pete and I don't muscle people about, that's not our style. Pete makes friends - he's your pal, he's your chum, you wanna do what he says. I handle the birds. A lot of 'em think they can pull one over on me, but they're wrong. I know they notice me - they all want something from me, but I never give it to 'em. I mess 'em around, get what I want from them and then leave 'em in the dust. Women are easy that way. Blokes are different - charm won't work, you gotta be tough. We need muscle, we call for backup - Barry usually. Always helps to have someone big and strong standing next to ya, in case things don't work out like you'd planned.

Pete turns and looks up at me from the chair. "What'd I say? You in?"

I look at Tommy. He knows I'll say yes and he says so. "Course he's in. Don't worry, Brady, I have a feelin' this'll be right up your alley."


	3. Chapter 3  Blackout Rage

Chapter Three - Blackout Rage

Later, the four of us are sitting at the pub. There's a group of big guys over in the corner being loud. Tommy's had a few and he keeps looking over at them from time to time and I can tell he's itching to pick a fight. I hope it doesn't come to that, because I am in no mood to be scrapping with any big guys tonight.

Alan's leaning over the table, telling us stories of scams he's pulled. I like this guy - he's not tough, but he's smart. Clever. He reminds me of Pete, and it's more than just the Derry accent. It's the smile, the wink, that thing he does with his hair. But unlike Pete, he's got connections, I mean real fucking connections. More than what Pete's got.

"- right in the middle of this big, fuckoff warehouse. And these guys meant business, I felt well up to me eyeballs in it." The more he speaks the more I neglect my drink. I've been holding the same bottle all night, while Tommy's knocked back four or five already. I think Alan's noticed how enthralled I am, because he's pretty much just been looking at me the whole night. "So the biggest one pulls out a knife, right? But I don't panic, I just put my hands up and try to get him to calm down. They're not leaving with this stuff until I have the money. It's not my money and it's not my stuff, I'm the middle-man here, and you can be sure it's my balls if I don't come back with the money."

The big guys are getting louder and Tommy's barely perched on the edge of his seat, glaring at them. As fascinating as Alan's story is, if I don't do something soon, we'll all be caught in a scrap. "Tommy, hey." Startled he turns to look at me. "Let 'em be, will ya?"

Alan puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder and looks over at the guys, who were acting like total assholes. One of the waitresses has gone over to their table to bring them drinks and a couple of the guys are grabbing her ass and making rude suggestions to her. All four of us stare silently, my blood begins to boil. I may use girls to get what I want, but I always treat them with respect - how a lady should be treated. To see these guys just manhandling this woman -

Tommy's up and out of his chair like a flash. "HEY!"

Alan looks at me, shaking his head. He sighs. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph…"

"Get your hands off of her!" All the big guys have stood up and boy are they big guys. This is a fight that Tommy really should not be picking. "Is that how you treat a lady, you fucking arseholes?" Tommy argues a while with the biggest guy until suddenly - BAM! Tommy gets punched in the face.

Pete runs over to help his brother, Alan runs over to help his cousins and I… sit there for a moment. Looking at the big guys. They really are some big fuckers. With a resigned sigh, I run over there too and soon we're all a tangle of limbs, punching each other. I reach for the nearest guy, grabbing his shirt and punching at him haphazardly. I never like to half-ass a fight, but I'm really not feeling this. One arm is swinging out willy-nilly while my other is trying to block my face. I feel a giant fist smash into my gut and look up into a giant, ugly face sneering down at me. "You're a scrawny fuck, aren't cha?" He's laughing at me. The more I swing out at him, the more he laughs his deep stupid laugh.

I lose it. Jumping up onto the guy, I take him to the floor, my fists flying at his face. I think I black out when this happens. All of my anger just takes control and the next thing I know, me and my bloody fists are being dragged across the bar. A woman is yelling at me. A big guy is pushing me toward the door. I stumble out into the street. I stand there, open-mouthed, gasping for air. Slowly coming down from the adrenaline rush I can feel a dull pain in my ribs begin to sharpen. I'm fairly certain my lip is bleeding.

I turn and Alan is there, tugging at my arm. "C'mon, Brady, we gotta go." I look around, but I can't see Pete or Tommy anywhere. "They're already on their way to the flat. The owner threatened to call the police, remember? Tommy bolted and Pete took off after 'im. I couldn't just leave you here by yourself." I stared at him for a moment. He shook me by the shoulders. "Brady, you okay? Can ye hear me?"

I nod my head. "What happened?"

Alan doesn't answer, but grabs me by the arm and leads me down the road a ways before stopping. "Brady, you beat the shit outta that guy. It took three of us just to pull you off." I lean against a wall, gasping for breath. It hurts to breath.

Alan takes a step closer. "Yer ma's gonna freak." He wipes my lip with his sleeve, then stares at me for a moment. "What the fuck was that all about, Brady?"

"He laughed at me."

Alan chuckles, but his eyes are sympathetic. "Tommy was right. You're nuts."


	4. Chapter 4  Nothing Like Dad

Chapter Four - Nothing Like Dad

That night I walk home. I never feel safe on the street at night, not in this neighborhood. Above me a couple has a shouting match in their flat. Not far off a baby is crying. No one's out on the street at night.

I take out my flat key and I can already hear the telly blaring inside. I know what it means - and it's the third time this week. With an exhausted sigh, I open the door and quickly make for my room, hoping my ma won't notice I've come in.

Too late. Ma came stumbling into the kitchen, red-faced and blurry-eyed. "Brendan! About fuckin' time you came home." I want to leave, but I know that'd just make her angrier. "Can't imagine what you get up to, out all day."

I stand in the hall, out of the light. The last thing I need is for ma to see my bruises. "I was just over at Pete's."

Ma slams her drink down, whiskey (I'm sure it's whiskey) spilling out onto the table. "Pete! Now there's a lad. I betcha he calls his ma to tell her where he is, the darling boy. How'd he turn out to be such an angel with that brother o' his, out boozin' and slicin' people to bits and what not?" Pete, an angel. Now I'd heard everything. "And you, you little shit, I haven't heard from you all day! Stayed up, frettin' and worryin' while you're off gallivantin' round town wit Pete! Thought you were off with that Barry fellow, getting into scraps of all sorts. I will NOT have you fightin' again! Not while you're still livin' in this house!"

I'm too tired to deal with ma's drunken tirade. Every night it's the same. "Well I wasn't, was I, ma? I was with Pete!"

"You're just like your da, you are! You got brains but you won't use 'em. You let yerself get pushed around, Brendan. You let these lads drag ya down - why do you do it?" She's stumbling around the table, now, moving closer to me. She puts her arms out to hug me, but I step away. She trips over herself and falls on the floor at my feet. I look down at her. She has no fucking idea what it's like.

"You're pathetic." She looks up at me, her eyes barely able to focus on my face. "You think that's what I do, you think I _choose _to hang around with those scumbags, ma? Well, I don't. I do it because I have to, because you have to be tough to get some respect. But how would you know, you only ever talk to me when you're blackout drunk. You never ask me about anything, ma, all you care about is yourself!"

Ma stood up and braced herself against the wall. "That's a lie! I was worried about you!" She looks at me and finally sees them: the cut on my lip, my black eye. She isn't sad, she doesn't ask what's happened to her baby. Instead she just shoves me away from her. "You little shit! You little liar - you lie to your mother! You're ma, who gave birth to ya! Where were ya tonight, eh? Fightin' and scrappin' - you're just like your dad, y'hear? Just like your dad!" She grabbed a bowl from the pile of dirty dishes near the sink and threw it at me. I dodged it and it shattered on the wall behind me. "I wish I'd never had ye! He only left cause I had you!"

I can't stay. I can't stand another minute of this. I turn around and run back out into the street. I can hear my ma yelling at me to come back, but I won't turn around. I'll just keep running, because I can't stand to be there one more fucking second.


	5. Chapter 5   Big Mistakes

Chapter Five - Big Mistakes

I'm laying on the Hamill's couch, but I can't get to sleep. Mrs. Hamill had let me in and given me some tea like she normally does. She's used to it by now - I even have my own pillow they keep in the hallway closet for such occasions. I can never sleep when this happens. It's not the couch, the couch is fine. But my adrenaline's rushing and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. Sometimes when I lie awake, staring at the ceiling like this, I wish that someone would come and take me away from here. I'm trapped. I'm trapped in my body, I'm trapped in this life, in this fucking life. Everything I do is for show, everything is just for everyone else. I can't remember the last time I did something that really made me happy. I can't remember a time when I didn't have to be tough. But I'm not tough, not really. I don't wanna be. Sometimes I think about the times when I've been backed into a corner, scared outta me mind and I've lashed out - really hurt people. I've broken noses, cracked ribs. I remember those blokes lying on the ground, bloody and beat up and I wonder: what's the point? What's the fucking point? Why do we do this?

I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. I hear someone trip on something and a lamp comes on. It's Alan. "Oh shit." He grabs his toe, then suddenly notices me out of the corner of his eye. He stands there in his pants looking at me for a moment. "Hey, Brady. Did I wake ye?"

"No. Can't sleep."

Alan looks at me, studying me intently. A concerned look comes over him, and I can feel my face getting warmer. I really wish he'd stop looking at me like that. I start to get uncomfortable until I realize why he's staring. Oh shit, I'd been crying.

Embarrassed, I wipe eyes with the back of my hand and roll over, turning away from him. It's too late, though. I know he saw me. I feel him sit down on the sofa near my feet. "I'm lookin' for the guy I met earlier, have ye seen 'im?" I pretend not to hear him. "Ye can't have missed 'im. He was a tall guy - crazy eyes, looked like he might go places. Apparently he has, cause he ain't here, I guess."

My words are muffled. "He don't exist." I turn over to face him. I don't know what it is about Alan that makes me want to talk to him. Maybe because I just met him. Maybe because I know he won't be staying. There's something about people like that - the ones who pass in and out of my life - that make me feel like maybe I can let my guard down once. "He was never here," I say again.

"Bollocks." He ran a hand through his hair, then shook it back into place. It was something I'd noticed he did quite often. He stared at me again. "I'm worried about ye. I know what it's like. My ma died when I was little - it's been me and my dad ever since. I try to be a man but… I never feel like one. It's like I'm just fakin' it all the time." I sit up next to him and we stare at the carpet for a while until he speaks again. "Ye black out in a rage - it's worse than bein' black out drunk." He looks at me. "I know what it's like, not to care about yerself. To think your nothin,' but you're wrong. You're not like other guys, all talk no feelin'. What I gather is, ya feel things more than most."

How does this bloke know anything about me? We only just met a few hours ago, but somehow he's sayin' things I've only ever thought while lyin' on this couch in the dark. I don't think I like it, but at the same time it feels… different. To have someone to talk to, someone who seems to know what it's like, what I'm feeling.

"It makes me sad. I wish I knew some way to help ya." I suddenly notice how close we're sitting. His knee is touching mine. "You don't deserve this. No one deserves this."

I don't know why I do it. Maybe it's because he's saying everything I've been thinking. Maybe it's the dim glow of the damp and his low, soft voice. Those big brown eyes looking at me and really seeing me. Maybe it's his knee touching mine. I lean forward, I close my eyes. Our lips touch for a moment. Just a fleeting second. I open my eyes and stare at him, our faces an inch apart. He looks at me and slowly puts a hand on my neck, pulling me closer. This time it's _more_. More movement, his hand finds a firmer grip on my neck, my hand moves up to his back, pulling him closer to me.

I've kissed girls before. But Alan is… different. He smells different, he feels different. It's _nice_. All those girls I've kissed, I was just trying to get what I want. Kissing Alan now, I finally feel like I might be getting something I need.

But just as I move my hand to his neck, he pulls away. We look at each other for a moment, my heart feels like it's beating out of my chest. Or that could just be the rib I think I cracked. What am I doing? Alan doesn't say anything. He shakes his head and slowly stands up. I don't know what's going on. I can't understand what just happened. Alan slowly makes his way back Tommy's room.

I lie back down on the couch, grabbing the blanket and pulling it back over myself. My heart is pounding in my head. What the fuck just happened? What the fuck did I just do? How can I have gone from feeling so high up to feeling like I'm sinking in the ocean? I've done a lot of terrible things, but why does it feel like I've just made the biggest mistake of my life?


	6. Chapter 6  No Escape

Chapter Six - No Escape

It's been an hour, maybe more. Can't sleep. Head poundin'. I have a weird feeling in my stomach, like my insides are all twisted. I try stretching out, but it doesn't help. I think I've been crying. How did everything get so messed up? I feel like it's all spinning out of control and there's no way to fix it. There's just no way.

Sometimes I get this feeling, this urgent need to escape. Like I'm tied down and struggling to get free. Like I'm trapped in a room with no door. I can't get out. I can't find the way. I can't escape. This is my life. This is who I am and try as hard as I might - as I possibly can - I will always loose control. I'm stuck with myself, all the stupid things I've done, all these feelings. I'm stuck, trapped. I'm hyperventilating. I take a few deep breaths to calm down. I try not to think about anything. My bruised knuckles, my drunken mother… Alan.

I don't even know why I did it. I've never - I've never had those feelings. In fact, I've never felt anything like it. Sweaty palms, racing heart - with girls I know where I stand. I'm always in control, I've always got them eating out of the palm of my hand. But this was… real. It wasn't a game, it's always a fucking game. This was just me and him - and he didn't want anything, wasn't expecting anything from me. He actually cared.

Until I fucked it all up. That look. He must hate me. He thinks I'm disgusting and he's right. I curl up into a ball, my stomach _really_ hurts. I don't want to see him again, I don't want to have to look at him. What's wrong with me? Why do I have to do this? What if he tells Tommy? He was so close to letting me and Peter run with him. Peter. What if he tells Peter? He'll hate me. They'll all hate me. Brady the queer. That's what they'll call me. They'll leave me. Peter will leave. And then I'll really be alone.

I can't take this. This feeling in my gut, it's driving me crazy. I get off the couch and pace around the room. I want to break everything in here. The vase - I want to throw it against the wall. The mirror - I want to punch it with my fist and watch my reflection shatter into a hundred pieces. This ceramic cat, this _fucking_ ceramic cat, with its smiling face and it's little red bow - I want to smash it on the ground. I don't do any of these things, but I wish I could. I want to hit myself. I want to hurt something, I want to hurt someone - I want someone to know what this feels like. All of this pain, I can't even breath.

I collapse onto the couch. I'm exhausted. It's four in the morning and I haven't slept all night. I can't help it. The tears start to come and soon my body is wracked with sobs. I shove my face into the pillow so no one will hear me. I hate myself for crying. I hate myself for feeling this way. But I can't get out. _I can't get out._


	7. Chapter 7 The Only Friend I've Got

I'm waking up from an exhausted sleep. That sleep where you're too tired to dream, which is probably a good thing. My whole body aches. I look down and gingerly touch my stomach, which is now covered in massive red and purple bruises. I realize that if I move quickly, I can leave before anyone else gets up. But as I grab my shirt, I hear footsteps in the hall and realize it's too late for that. _Please don't be Alan. Please don't be Alan…_

Shit. Alan drags himself out into the living room - looks like he hasn't slept a wink. Just seeing him makes my stomach drop and the hairs on the back of me neck stand on end. He stands there in the doorway looking at me as if he's surprised I'm still here. I don't blame him - I would have left if I'd had somewhere to go. His face turns beet red and he looks away. I look away too, but part of me can't help myself and I look up again. He's staring at me and our eyes lock for a moment. I feel a twinge of excitement and disgust. I want him to stop looking at me - I want him to leave. I want him to forget about what happened last night. I wish I could make him forget.

Alan looks like he's about to say something, but Pete comes shuffling up behind him. "Toast." He grunts at Alan and pushes him out of the way as he heads to the kitchen. Pete's not what you'd call a "morning person." I put my shirt on and notice that Alan's still standing there looking at me. I'm starting to get angry. At his staring, yeah, but also at me own stupidity. Why? Why did I have to ruin everything? I really wish he'd just stop staring at me. I know what he's thinking. He thinks I'm disgusting. He's going to tell me he doesn't want anything to do with me. He's going to tell Pete. He'll tell Tommy to. And that'll be it. Why is he staring at me? Before I can tell him to piss off Pete talks to me from the kitchen. "Brady, y'want a cuppa?" Alan turns and shuffles back down the hallway. Part of me wants him to come back.

"Yeah, thanks mate." I go into the kitchen where a bleary-eyed Pete is putting the kettle on. I pick up the mug I used last night and rinse it out. Setting it on the counter I notice the large bruise on Pete's shoulder. "That looks pretty sore."

He shrugs and turns to look at me, concerned. "Have ye looked at yourself lately? It looks really bad, Bren." He reaches out his hand, but I slap it away.

"Now you're worried. Where were ye last night, eh? I was getting my face kicked in, you didn't seem that concerned." Am I really this angry? I should know what's what by now - you get in a scrap, you save your own skin. He's my mate, though. He should have my back.

"Bren -"

I can't stop. Now I've started I'm on a roll. "No, Pete. You and Tommy took off and let me get the shit beaten out o' me. I thought we were mates. All you care about's yourself."

"That's not true. An' you know it." Pete looks hurt - genuinely hurt that I'm saying this to him. I try so hard not to make him feel guilty, he really takes things hard. But I'm so mad I could give two shits about his feelings right now. "Tommy was goin'. They were gonna call the police, I couldn't stay there. 'Sides, it's not as if you were the victim - I tried to pull you off the guy but I couldn't. Tommy said leave ye… so I did." Pete rubs his bruised shoulder, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

He tried. He tried to stop me. But he had to go. I understand that, so why can't I stop? "Bullshit, Pete! Bullshit. Mates don't leave each other in the thick of it - they stick up for each other. If you can't do that then what kind o' friend are ye?" I can't believe I said that to my own friend. Pete looks devastated, but I can't stop myself. "I'm leavin'." I head to the living room to grab my jacket. Alan's been sitting on the couch, doubtlessly listening in on our conversation - pokin' his nose in things that don't concern 'im.

Pete follows me, getting more upset by the second. "Fine! You always do this, you blame me for everythin' Brendan, but y'know what? Not anymore." I think he's got tears in his eyes, but I can't tell. "You think I'm such a shit friend, then fine. I won't even bother anymore. Get yourself out o' yer own scraps, I'm through with it!"

I zip my jacket as I head for the door. I'm barely listening to what he's saying. He doesn't want to be my mate, that's fine. Who needs 'im? I don't, I can take care of meself. He wasn't there anyway, when I needed him. And who wants a mate that don't watch yer back? Not me.

I'm trying to convince myself that this is fine - that I'll be okay. I don't even hear him talking as my feet hit the pavement. Yelling about how he doesn't need me. How I don't appreciate him. How no one wants to be my friend, I'm such a selfish piece of shit. I'm glad I don't hear him, cause he could bloody well hurt my feelings with that kind of talk. The door slams. It's just a row. He'll be back before ye know it - begging to be my friend again. We've had fights like this - worse ones even. We'll be okay. Pete will come back, he's got to. Because really, deep down, I don't know what I'll do without him. He's the only friend I've got.


	8. Chapter 8 Letting My Guard Down

"Brendan, wait up!" I'm just about to put my key in the lock when Alan comes running up behind me. Did he follow me?

"Look, I'm really not in the mood, so piss off, will ya?" I turn back and go inside. "Ma!" No answer. Thank God. I set my keys on the table and I hear the door close behind me. Alan's standing in the doorway. "Get the fuck outta my house!"

"Pete wasn't lyin'." Not this. Not from Alan. I really don't need people telling me things I already know. "He tried to help ye. But you couldn't stop yourself - no one could stop ya." I try to ignore him. I go into the living room and start cleaning up the mess of bottles and glasses me ma has lying around. Alan follows me, still talking. "You know it, Brendan. Pete's a good guy. He cares about ya, he looks out fer ya. I know you're angry and upset, but don't take this out on 'im. He don't deserve it."

I wheel around, finally confronting him. "You don't know me! You talk like ye do, but you don't know me at all. You come in here with yer leather jacket and yer pointed boots and you think you know everything. But ye don't." I get right in his face. I want him to look at me - I want him to hear what I'm saying. "I want ye to leave me alone. Don't look at me, don't talk to me. Just get out." I'm inches away from Alan's face. I'm so close I can smell him. I can see the stubble on his face, the pores in his skin. Feel his breath. He looks into my eyes.

"Ask me." That throws me for a loop. I don't know what he's on about. "Go ahead, ask me why I left last night. You wanna know - so ask."

"I don't care." I'm lying. He says as much.

"I know that's not true. All that with Pete. You're mad at me and ye have to take it out on someone." I don't like this. This fucking bloke acting like he knows me. Why does he seem to know everything I'm thinking? "So ask."

I've got him backed against a wall, still inches away from him. "I don't wanna hear it."

He goes on like I haven't said anything. "You're right, Brendan, I don't know ye. But last night you went from havin' a laugh to beatin' a guys head in in thirty seconds. You're an angry guy, I can see that. 'Cause you're lonely and no one gets ya. I felt sorry for ye. But… I couldn't."

That's it. Pity. Just pity? Alan tries to move toward the door, but I slam my hand against the wall, blocking his way. "Look, I don't need yer pity. I can take care o' meself and I don't need you or Peter or anyone else. I'm fine on me own. Got that?" We stand there for a moment, just staring at each other.

"I wish you didn't try to act so tough. Why won't you let anyone help ya?" Alan isn't afraid of me. He's looking at me with those brown doe-eyes of his, all soft and sympathetic like. It makes my stomach twist in knots. I wish he'd stop. "Sometimes it's okay to let people care about ye."

Ever so slowly, he raises a hand to my face. I don't know why, but I let him. I want to shove him away. I don't want to deal with this right now. He runs his hand across my cheek, to the back of my neck, gently rubbing his thumb behind my ear. I relax a bit. I feel his other hand wrap around me, grabbing the back of my jacket, pulling our bodies slightly closer together. I look into his eyes and I want to get lost in them. I want to forget about all the shit with Peter and me ma and everything else. Just for a little while I want to let meself go.

Alan tilts his head up slightly and brushes his lips across my jaw. My hand moves from the wall to his waist, gathering the fabric of his shirt in my hand. I reach up with the other and brush the hair from his forehead. I take a moment to study his face, running my hand down to his chin, resting my thumb there. My mouth's gone dry. He leans in once more, this time his lips meet mine. It's soft at first - he takes my bottom lip between his, just holding it there for a moment. I open my eyes and look at him briefly before wrapping my hand around the back of his head and pulling him in for another kiss.

Alan is grabbing the back of my jacket and pulling me into him, running his other hand through the hair on the back of my neck. I pull him closer to me - I can't get close enough. We start to move back across the room as I feel his tongue move against my lips. I gently suck his bottom lip between my teeth as I feel the back of my legs hit the arm of the couch. I fall backwards and the next thing I know Alan is on top of me, tongue in my mouth, his hands grabbing at my jacket.

I feel like I can't breath, and it's got nothing to do with Alan's weight pressing down on me. Alan's kisses my chin as I feel his hands leave me. He sits up, straddling me, and lifts his shirt over his head. He looks down at me and I can see desire in his eyes. Desire for me. He wants me. I reach out and run my hand over the bare skin of his stomach, tracing a line down to the top of his trousers. He bends down to kiss me again, sucking my tongue into his mouth. I wrap my arms around him, feeling him pressed against me. My hearts starts racing. I don't know what to do. I don't know.

I roll over, toppling Alan to the floor. He smirks up at me for a moment, but his face falls when he sees me glaring at him. "Get out." He looks utterly confused. "GET OUT!" I pick his shirt off the floor and throw it in his face. He's still sitting on the carpet, utterly baffled.

"Brendan, calm down."

Those doe eyes. Still looking at me. I don't need his pity. I don't need him. This isn't right. It's disgusting. "Shut yer mouth and get out." I grab him by the arm and pull him off of the floor, shoving him toward the door. "Don't you ever touch me again." Alan hastily puts on his shirt and moves away from me. "And don't you dare breath a word of this to Peter or I swear to God I'll beat the living daylights out o' ye."

Alan glares at me, shaking his head. "Pete was right - the more people try to help ye, the more you just push them away. Well, y'know what, Brendan? One day, you're gonna look around ye and find yerself totally alone. And the only person to blame for that is yerself."

The door slams and I'm left standing in an empty flat. I don't even know what just happened.


	9. Chapter 9 An Unexpected Visit

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who's given me feedback, both here on FF and on DS. I appreciate all the kind responses I've gotten to this story. :)**

I run my hand under the faucet in the bathroom. The water's too hot, but I leave my hand under until it turns pink, until it stings too much to keep it in any more. I look up at my face in the mirror. Sometimes you forget what everyone else sees, but that's the most important part. Everyone's judgments, all their opinions - that's what makes your life, don't it?

Tall lanky lad. Eighteen. Dark hair, steely blue eyes, funny mustache. I'm the only one my age I know can grow one. My ma hates it. Reminds her of my dad, which is kinda why I've got it. Sometimes I hate him for leaving us, but I know why he did it. Ma. Ma and her drinkin' - even before he left she was a boozer. At first it was at parties and that, but then she lost her job and she got mean drunk. She'd sit around the house all day, drinkin' before noon. Her and dad used to row all the time. I don't blame him for findin' someone else. Finally had enough of it. Packed his bags and left one day. He's still in Belfast, but it's not our Belfast. His Belfast is nice - posh. Him and that woman and their little girl - Charlene or somethin' like that. I've only met her once, I think. Our Belfast is… this. Poor, run-down Belfast. Lonely, cut-throat, welfare Belfast. And he left me here. With her.

I've got a cut on my bottom lip. A bruise on my eye. A gash on my cheek. I look a right mess. I feel it too, in more ways than one. What kind of person am I? Who finds joy in something so disgusting - so wrong? I splash some water on my face and watch the droplets roll down my cheek, making tiny pink blots on the counter. It's not Alan. I keep telling myself that. It's the way I feel. When he looks at me - like he knows me. Like he _wants_ to know me. I've never had that before with anyone. Girls look at me sometimes. It's so easy with them. Because I don't feel anything. Flash her a smile, a quick snog in the ally and bob's your uncle. She'll give you whatever you want. Tell you anything you wanna know. But this is different. I don't want anything from Alan. I just want him to look at me with them eyes. Because he makes me feel different. That's it. I'm not gay. Not me.

It's almost one o' clock. I don't really know what to do now that Pete's not talking to me. I lay on the couch and rest my eyes for a bit. I can feel him. I can still feel that weight on my chest. I can see the shocked and disappointed look on his face as he stares up at me from the floor. Why do I do it? Why do I hurt the only people who show me the least bit of affection? What if I hadn't pushed him away?

I don't even have to ask. I know what I would have done. My stomach is in knots now. I think I'm gonna be sick.

Suddenly, the bell rings. I drag myself off of the couch toward the door. I hope it's Peter. I pull back the curtain to see who it is and there's a little blonde girl who looks about twelve standing on our stoop. She looks up at me through the window with her big hazel eyes and waves enthusiastically. I'm not in the mood for this shit. I open the door and get a better look at her. She's wearing the strangest outfit I've ever seen on a child. Oversized, flower-print jumper, polka-dot skirt and neon orange leggings. I look up the street, searching for this kid's parents, but I don't see anyone. I stare down at her, smacking my gum, but she continues to smile idiotically up at me.

"Are you Brendan Brady?" I nod slightly, surprised that she's asking for me by name, as I have no idea who she might be. Unless… "I'm Cheryl. Cheryl Brady - your sister. Well, sort of anyway. See your da is my da, so I guess that makes us brother and sister, though I don't think I've ever met you and if I have I can't remember. How old are you? Why is your face all cut up? Why do you have a mustache?"

Please, God, help me. She forces her way past me and into the living room, talking incessantly. I don't think she even stops to take a breath. She plops herself down on the couch, finally falling silent. She stares at me expectantly and I realize I haven't said one word to her. "Erm… where's yer ma?" That's what you say to children, right? Out on their own?

Cheryl's picking at a scab on her elbow and doesn't even acknowledge my question. "My da told me I had a brother who lived in this part of town, so I looked for ye. I'm pretty good at that sort of stuff - gettin' what I want and that."

Now I'm really worried. What if this girls parents don't know where she is? They might be worried sick about 'er. "Look, Baby Spice, does yer ma know where you are or not?"

She twirls her hair around her finger for a moment. "Not _exactly_, no." She panics when she sees the exasperated look on my face. "Please, Brendan! I just want to know a bit about ye, that's all. I promise I'll only stay for a little while longer. Then I'll pop back home and no one will even know I was gone! Pleeeease?"

I'm not used to little girls begging to spend time with me. I think about it before I figure, she's the one who ran away. If anything she's the one who'll be getting in trouble for this - it's not my arse. I sit on the chair and she stares at me, wide-eyed. It's kind of cute in a way. "Your mustache looks just like me da's."

I chuckle at her. She's a strange little kid, that's for sure.

"Why's your eye all bruised?"

"I got in a fight."

"With who?"

"A guy in a bar. Him and his friends weren't treating this lady too nicely and I can't stand that." For the most part, that's technically true.

"I punched someone once." That wasn't something I expected to hear her say. "Fern McGrady last summer. She ripped my wig out during Riverdance recital, so I hit her in the face."

While the mental image of tiny Riverdancers scrapping is quite hilarious, I try to keep a straight face. "Girls shouldn't fight each other like that. It's not ladylike."

"But boys get into scraps all the time. I see 'em at school." She raised an eyebrow at me. It's something I remember my da doing whenever he was making a point. "Does it hurt?"

"A lot."

"Where's yer ma?"

"Out." We sit there in silence for a bit. "Not what you expected, am I? Living in the bad part of town, getting in fights…"

"Weird mustache," she adds, smirking. "No. But it's nice to meet my big brother." Her big funny smile kinda melts my heart a bit.

"Y'wanna stick around for a while? I can take you for a bite or somethin'."

Her face lights up immediately and I grab my jacket and head out the door, Cheryl bouncing along behind me, chattering all the way. For another hour or so I forget all about Pete and Alan and all the other shit going on in my life. I just found my weird little sister. Well, actually, she found me.


	10. Chapter 10 Loneliness

**Just wanted to thank everybody who's commented, either on DS or here on FF. I'm so glad you like the story and I wish I had the time to write as much as I'd like. But alas, homework! Hopefully this will tide you over until I get to the next one. Cheers!**

I haven't talked to Pete in two weeks. It's the longest we've ever gone without speaking. I try not to think of him to much, and Cheryl's certainly been helping. She's come round to ours a few times, when my ma's out. We mostly just sit together and watch telly, talking about stuff. Her, mostly. Her dreams of becoming a famous Riverdancer, her dreams of becoming an ice-dancer, her dreams of becoming an Olympic gymnast… I don't talk about myself too much. I wouldn't even if I could get a word in edge-wise. A sweet little girl like that doesn't deserve a no-good brother like me. She's lucky, she doesn't live in this part of town. She doesn't know what it's like to have to fight. She's got a good chance of making something of herself, and I don't want to do anything that would pull her down to my level.

Cheryl's on my couch right now. But she's not very talkative today. She seems quieter than usual. We've just been sitting together in the living room, not really saying anything. She picks at her fingernails and stares at me sometimes across the room. I finally ask her what's the matter and she looks at me for a minute or two.

She picks at the snag in her leggings, makes as if to say something a few times before actually speaking. "Where's yer ma?"

"I told ye - she works." I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I never want Cheryl to meet my ma. I don't want her to know what she's really like. An alcoholic waste of a person. I don't want Cheryl to feel sorry for me.

"Where?"

A call center. She answers phones at a fucking call center for eight hours a day.

"She answers phones. Like a secretary." We sit in silence for a while. I'm pretty sure Cheryl knows that I'm lying. Kids are like that. Sometimes you can fool them - spout off some shit and pull the wool over their eyes. Other times…

"My ma works, too. She used to stay at home with me, but she doesn't anymore." Cheryl seems sad at this. I try to understand what it's like to actually want your own mother around. It's hard. "She couldn't afford to stay home anymore, so she works down at the shops now a few days a week. She says I'm old enough to stay home by myself." Cheryl may act tough and independent sometimes, but I can see it in the way she looks at me - she needs people. "How do you do it, Bren? Don't you get lonely?"

I pick at my nails for a moment. It's a habit of mine when I'm thinking of the right things to say. I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell her about how miserable my life is - that I wish she would take me home with her so I could have a real dad and a real ma. A real life. Kids like her, they're too vulnerable for that. _They can't handle the truth_, so to speak. My ma never hid the gritty truth from me as a kid - and look how I turned out.

"Sure I do. Everyone gets lonely sometimes. But I think… well, when you're away from someone for a while you realize how much you can't live without 'em. You see 'em again and you just - you feel that warm glow in ye that you didn't even realize was there. Loneliness is part of life, Chez. It's there to remind us how much we love each other." Cheryl looks at me with her big green eyes. Her face, round like a peach, stares at me from the sofa. She smiles a bit and it I've got one of those feelings - like this is one of those moments you'll remember every once in a while.

Chez is gone. Back on the train to her side of town while I sit here on the couch. For the past two weeks, this is all I've done - moped around the flat. Thinking. About Pete. About Alan. Just thinking. And right now, thinking is the last thing I should be doing. It only gets you into trouble.

I need to get out. I need to go do something. Anything. I grab my jacket and I head out, down the street. I don't really know where I'm goin'. Down to the shops, I guess. Gonna see what the lads are up to. I haven't hung around with them in a while, not that I've really missed them all that much. Except…

Oh fuck, it's Peter. After two weeks I finally see him, standing outside his house on my way to the shops. Our eyes lock. I try to look away, to keep walking, but it's too late - we've seen each other. My gut twists into knots. The guilt comes rushing back like the day I stormed out of his flat. He's not a shit friend. He's the best mate a guy could have and I was a total dick to 'im. I put my head down, staring at the pavement as I walk by. _Please don't stop me, please don't stop me…_

"Brendan, wait up." I feel Pete grab my arm, turning me to face him. He's right there - I can't get away now. I have to talk to him. Please, just once, let me just tell him the truth. Let me just apologize for being a dickhead. He doesn't wait for me to say anything, just pulls me towards his flat. I follow him.

Pete goes to the couch and sits down. Then stand up. Then sits in the chair. Then stands up. He's nervous, I gather that much. "Brendan, I've been thinkin'…" He pauses for a moment, picking his fingernails. "I've been thinkin' about why you do it. Why ye say such awful things to me sometimes. Why I let ye."

"I didn't mean it." I hastily reply. I can apologize - I can. Anything to make him stop. Anything so we don't have to talk about this. I just want this to be over so we can move on and everything can be as it was.

"No, Brendan. You're gonna listen now." I'm getting a tight feeling in my chest. That trapped feeling. I try to ignore it and listen to what Pete has to say. I owe him at least that much after the way I treated him. "I know you, Brendan. Better than anyone else, I think, and I know why you do these things. It's cause you're afraid. Afraid to be alone. You keep tryin' to push me away and one of these days you will do. For good." He sits on the couch and looks at his shoes. "I don't deserve this."

"I know."

We both sit in silence for a minute or two. I feel like our friendship is hanging in the balance right now and there's nothing I can do about it. It's all down to Pete at this point. I've done this too many times - blown up at him for no reason. Treated him like shit. I wouldn't blame him if he told me to leave.

"I just don't get what's been goin' on with you, Brendan. I'm worried about ye. All this shit with yer ma all the time. I understand why you're so angry. I just wish you wouldn't take it out on me. I'm only tryin' to help." I walk over to the couch and sit next to him. He looks at me, finally. "I had to get away from ye for a little while, Brendan, just to think about things a bit. But you know I'll never leave ya, right?"

I nod as a wave of relief washes over me. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I didn't have Pete. He always comes back. I don't know why he does it - God knows I don't deserve it - but he does. But even now as we're sitting here on the couch I wonder what I'm going to do next. What's the next big mistake going to be that'll make him hate me again?


	11. Chapter 11 Not Myself

It's two in the morning. I hear the front door slam from my bedroom. Keys are thrown on the counter. Thuds against the walls as my mother stumbles down the corridor. Closer and closer. Thud thud thud. Suddenly my door bursts open and she's standing there, silhouetted by the light of the hall.

"Brendan Brady, you get the fuck up right now!"

My eyes adjust to the light and I can see her face – red and bleary-eyed. She's storms over to the bed and rips the covers off of me, stumbling backward with the force of her own motions.

"Ma, what?"

"You dirty little bastard, don't you talk to me!" She starts stumbling around the room. "You little liar!"

I'm wide awake now.

"You'll never guess who I got a call from tonight. Your da! Yeah, he says you've been seeing Cheryl – quite a lot actually." She picks up an empty mug from my dresser and I barely dodge it in time, hearing it crash against the headboard behind me. "YOU FUCKING LIAR! I don't want you to have anything to do with him or his bastard children, do you hear me!"

I can't escape. She's blocking the doorway now, wielding an empty bottle in one hand. "Ma, she's my sister –"

She swings the bottle at me, missing. "Don't you say that! Don't you fuckin' say that. That man is not our family and that girl is not your sister. I don't want you to have anything to do with him."

I make my move for the door and she swings the bottle with all the force she can muster. I feel it break against my right shoulder. I hear myself yell as shards of glass stick into my arm, my neck and the side of my face. I feel a kick at my back and my chest hits the carpet. I'm crawling on the floor away from my ma now. My arm hurts like hell. She kicks the back of my legs, the side of my chest. I scramble to my feet as quickly as possible and run for the door.

"BRENDAN! Get back here!"

I can't see through the tears, but my feet hit the pavement. I'm running to Pete's again.

I got in a fight. That's what I told the Hamill's and that's what I told the doctor. It's five in the morning and I've been tossing on Pete's sofa for an hour.

She hates him. She hates his fuckin' guts for leavin' but can you blame him? She's a wreck. I'd leave her too if I could. But it's my fault. After what I did… that'd drive any mother to drink. It's not right. People deserve what they get. And I deserve this. I drove her to drink – I made him leave. She's miserable cause of me.

Footsteps down the hallway getting closer. It's Alan. I roll over, facing the back of the couch. I don't want to look at him right now. His footsteps stop and I hear him mumble in the dark. "I just want to say… I'm sorry. About what happened to you."

I'm facing the back of the couch, but I can hear him approach.

"I'm not gonna lie, Brendan, I'm still mad at you. But seeing you like this – I'm starting to understand why you did what you did."

I roll over to face him, sitting up on the sofa. Looking him in the eyes. "Understand? That's just it. How could you possibly understand? You can't. You think we're so similar, but we're not. I'm nothing like you." I stand up and slowly approach him, not saying anything until there's only a few inches between us. I whisper – partly because I don't want anyone to hear, but mostly to make sure he's listening. "You think I want this?" His big brown eyes gaze into mine. "You're wrong. I don't."

He doesn't back away. I've told him I don't want him – why doesn't he leave?

Instead, Alan moves closer. I can feel his breath on my face. "I know you're lying." I'm locked in his gaze. Frozen like a deer in headlights. "Why won't you just let this happen?" I look down at our hands, our fingers somehow having managed to intertwine. My whole body is willing me to give in –trapped in a battle with my mind.

"It can't… I can't." Alan leans forward, touching his forehead to mine. I step back, not letting go of his hand. "I'm not."

Alan doesn't say anything, but steps forward, closing the gap between us. His cheek brushes my cheek, his chest presses into my chest, his hips press into my hips. We don't kiss yet – just stand here, together. It's like nothing I've ever felt. Something in the back of my mind knows that I should be scared – of someone finding out, of what this means, of letting him get this close. But I don't feel any of that fear. As Alan puts his arms around me I just feel safe.

I can't wait anymore. I pull back just slightly, looking him in the eye for a moment before bringing my lips to his. It's soft this time. Not angry or overly-passionate. Not hurried and sloppy like last time. Just soft and slow.

Am I pulling him forward, or is he pushing me back? Either way, I feel my back hit the wall. We don't stop kissing. We never stop kissing as my hands find the back of his neck. As one of his hands grabs my shirt and the other…

His hand reaches the elastic band of my boxers. Almost instinctively I pull away. This can't happen. Not now. Not… _again_.

Alan stares at me, bringing his hand back up to stroke my face. "It's okay. It's okay." I relax and allow him to kiss me a while longer. Eventually his hand makes its way down my body. I don't stop him this time.

I gasp and grip the back of his shirt as I feel his hand on me. He's kissing my neck and I struggle not to make any noise as he starts to move. Slowly. Gently. Rhythmically. He lifts one of my knees and wraps my leg around his hip to allow him better access. He's breathing heavily into my neck and it's getting harder to keep the moans from escaping my mouth. All I can sense is his hand on me. All I can think of is how good it feels.

Finally he kisses me, swallowing my groan as my body shudders. I squeeze my eyes shut and he strokes me until the shivering becomes mere twitches. He pulls his mouth from mine and I hear a whimper. Was that me?

Alan kisses my face. My upper lip, my nose, my cheek, my eyes – still shut. We stand there in silence for a moment. I loosen the grip on the back of his shirt. I feel a tear fall from my chin and his hand lightly brushing my face. I open my eyes and he's staring at me. Those eyes.

Alan gives me a quick kiss before going into the kitchen for a towel. I'm standing alone against the wall. And suddenly it hits me. Like I'm coming back into my own body. The weight of it all comes crashing down on top of me. Overwhelming me. What have I done? How could I let this happen? I have to get out of here. I have to leave. When he comes back I can barely bring myself to look him in the eye. I hastily clean myself off, glaring at the floor.

"Brendan, are you okay?"

Alan puts a hand on my good shoulder, but I shrug it away. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." I look up at him. How can he do it? How can he bare to look at me after what we just did? "It'll be mornin' soon. You should probably go to bed."

"Brendan –"

"Just -" I feel myself start to loose it, but I manage to stop. I look at him for a moment. He runs his hand through his hair, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Alan, just go."


	12. Chapter 12 Worth the Risks?

**Author's Note: Okay guys, this is a little departure from the norm. I've given this flashback a lot of thought. In fact, I've pretty much been planning this since chapter one. Hope you guys like. (Also: These things seem WAY longer when I write them. On my computer this is like six pages. Just sayin'.)**

CHAPTER TWELVE

_Fourteen years old. I'm in a small church cemetery and the sky is dark with rain clouds that haven't broken yet. My father stands next to his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder as the casket is lowered into the ground. I feel cold inside. I cross my arms, __practically hugging myself, but it doesn't help. My aunt starts crying as I feel the first drops of rain on my face._

"_God our Father,__  
__Your power brings us to birth,__  
__Your providence guides our lives,__  
__and by Your command we return to dust.__"_

_All heads are bowed. All eyes closed in prayer. But I can't take my eye off of the casket. Except for one moment. The moment I look up and my eyes lock with Father MacDermott's. He's looking right at me. And I know what he's thinking._

"_Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,  
their lives change but do not end.  
I pray in hope for my family,  
relatives and friends,  
and for all the dead known to You alone."_

_He breaks first, staring down at the casket once more. I look at my aunt, silently weeping. My uncle's arms are around her shoulders. My father stands next to him, head bowed. Praying for his soul? Almost as if he feels my gaze, he opens his eyes, staring back at me. I quickly look away. He knows. We both know why this happened. The priest, my father and I. We know. _

_My mother grabs the sleeve of my jacket. It's not a comforting touch. I had almost forgotten she was there. Almost. Every now and then the breeze would blow the faint smell of alcohol to my nose. She'd been drinking even more than usual these past few days. _

"_In company with Christ,  
Who died and now lives,  
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,  
where all our tears are wiped away.  
Unite us together again in one family,  
to sing Your praise forever and ever."_

"Amen."

* * *

_A few days earlier. I'm sitting on the floor of my room playing solitaire and listening to records on my dad's old turn-table. I hear the phone ring in the other room and hear my ma answer it. A few minutes later the door of my room flies open, banging loudly against the wall. My mother is standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes._

"_It's your cousin, Declan. He's killed himself."_

* * *

_I am twelve years old and my cousin Declan and I are riding our bikes through the woods to our favorite hiding spot. Declan and I have spent days making it our own and we've finally completed the finishing touches. To anyone else, it would look like a pile of old branches, but to us it's a fort. A super-secret, no-girls-allowed (of course) fortress of manhood. We leaned some old logs against a fallen tree and covered it with sticks and branches, creating a small enclosure in which we could sit, smoke cigarettes, play cards and look at naked girls in magazines. The magazines are Declan's. Well, technically they're his older brother's, but Declan's borrowed them for a while._

_We look at some of the pictures – women with tiny waists and big tits. They're smiling, but even at my young age I can tell that they aren't really happy. Something about their eyes makes them seem… sad. Declan turns the pages silently. Every now and then one of us comments on something, but this doesn't seem to be the experience we were expecting. Declan's brother loves them. Declan turns the page and lying before us are two buxom brunettes, topless and kissing each other. We stare at this page for a while, not saying anything. I focus on their lips. Not their hands on each others hips, or the curve of their breasts pressing against one another's. Their lips slightly parted, a hint of tongue between them._

"_Have you ever kissed anyone like that?" I turn to Declan and see that he too is enraptured by these embracing women. He stares at them intently for a while before answering me with a slight nod._

"_Once. Cathleen Harris. It was..." he grimaces, "kind of gross, actually." He tore his gaze away from the magazine, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. "Don't tell her I said that, though."_

_I looked back down at the women. Two women kissing – of all the things. "D'ya think, though…" I paused. I didn't know what to say. Or how to say it. "D'ya think it's different like this." I pointed to the magazine. "Kissing a woman's got to be different than kissing a bloke."_

_Declan's eyebrows furrowed with thought. "I'd suppose." He absently twirled the ring on his finger. I'd found it in the woods the week before and had given it to him as a gift – a sign of my allegiance, if you will, to our super-secret club. "I'd like to think, though, that all girls don't kiss like Cathleen Harris. For their sake, I mean." He pauses, then looks me straight in the eye. "Yeah, I guess blokes would be different."_

* * *

_I am sitting on a chair next to my father. We're outside Father MacDermott's office. I can hear muffled voices on the other side of the door. I can't make out the words, but I hear the low rumble of Father MacDermott's voice and, every so often, short stilted bursts in a slightly higher register. More rumbling. Crying now. Quietly at first, then louder. I hear the scrape of a chair across the wooden floor. Footsteps. Rumbling. The crying dies down. Rumbling._

_The door opens and Father MacDermott stands in the doorway, his hand on Declan's shoulder. Declan's steely blue eyes rimmed with redness and tears. He wipes at his face with his sleeve. His cheeks are flushed – with shame? Embarassment? He's staring at the floor not saying a word. It feels like an eternity. This boy, my cousin who I loved and looked up to, who taught me everything about being a man, just standing there. Meek. Ashamed._

_Finally Declan raises his head and looks up at my father. "Please don't tell my da. Please…" _

_Father MacDermott tightens his grip on Declan's shoulder. "My son, we're not here to punish you for your mistakes. What you've done was wrong, a sin. But you can be forgiven. I want to help you. To put you back on the righteous path toward salvation. That's all." He turns Declan to face him, leaning down slightly to look him in the eye. "If your faith is strong enough you can overcome any obstacle." Declan nods silently. "I won't tell your parents what you have done, young man. But you will have to live with this burden, as we live with all sins great and small. We carry them as a reminder to turn away from temptations that lead us from His way." He pats Declan on the shoulder. "I'll be talking with you again soon, my lad."_

_Declan nods gravely and turns his gaze downward once more. He shuffles past me without so much as looking at me. I hear the door close behind me as Father MacDermott turns to me._

"_Young Brendan Brady. It seems as though we ought to have a chat."_

* * *

_Declan is lying on the floor of my room, staring vacantly at the ceiling, as I wipe burning tears from my face. Outside I can hear my parents talking in raised voices. Everything has gotten way out of hand. I feel like I'm being eaten from the inside out. I want to crawl under my bed and disappear forever._

_Honestly, I don't know how I didn't see this coming. It's been going on for so long. Declan and I. Part of me knew it was wrong. We just couldn't stop._

_I turn to see Declan, who's curled himself into a ball now, knees by his chin, hugging himself. He meets my gaze for a moment before turning away quickly, too ashamed to look at me._

"_NO SON OF MINE IS GOING TO BE A QUEER!" My mother's voice echoes through the house, traveling down the corridor, into my room, and rattling around inside me for a while. I cram my eyes shut._

"_I don't know how we can fix this." My dad had been silent for a long while, just letting my ma vent her anger. The only small glimmer of comfort I have is that he wasn't the one to see me like this._

"_Well, you're friends with the priest – do something! Take him there, make him normal!" I hear Declan start to cry. He grabs the blanket laying next to him on the floor and pulls it over himself. I hear my father mumble something. _

_There's a long silence. The sound of footsteps approaching._

_The door opens and my father is standing in the doorway. He can't even look at me. "Declan…Brendan. It's late, we're all exhausted. Your ma's in a right state." He clears his throat. "Try to get some sleep. We'll visit Father MacDermott tomorrow morning." My stomach turns. My father rubs his neck. "I'll drive you boys down there myself. Something needs to be done about this – you know it, I know it." He pauses for a moment, finally looking at me. "It's for your own good. This can't be allowed to go on – not my son, not in this house."_

_He leaves without shutting the door, the hallway light pouring into my room. I lean over and shut it, leaving Declan and I on the floor lit by the light of the moon shining through the window. He finally speaks to me, his voice small and shaking._

"_Brendan, what am I gonna do?"_

* * *

Pete shakes me awake. I must have fallen back asleep. "Y'all right there, Brady? Havin' a bad dream again?" I rub the sleep out of my eyes and slowly sit up. Pete's already dressed for the day. "Tommy and Alan are goin' down to the village to meet somebody about this big deal we're in on. Still won't tell me nothin' about it."

"Quite the mystery." I pull my shirt over my head, sitting there with it around my neck for a moment, staring at him seriously. "Peter, I know this is big. But is this the sort of thing we could get in trouble for? I mean, real trouble?"

He bites his lip and looks at me. "I guess… if you don't take the risks you don't deserve the reward, right?"


	13. Chapter 13 The Plan

**Author's note: Hey everybody! Just wrote a quick little chapter today, finally getting around this big "plan" Tommy's always talking about. Figured it was time. Y'know, sometimes I can't believe I've written 13 chapters already and then I look at how long they actually are and I'm like, "Actually, yeah, I believe it." Thanks for all of the comments! I love getting feedback. :)**

"Cocaine?" Tommy and Alan have just gotten back from their little meeting with their contact – the guy settin' us up with the job. "I dunno," I almost say. I keep my mouth shut, though. I don't want to look like I can't handle this.

"C'mon, Brady, this is _money_. Real money." Tommy can barely contain his excitement. "This isn't scamming some old ladies out of their cash, Brady, this is - "

"Dealin'." Peter has a glint in his eye. After nearly three years of watching his brother play in the big leagues, his time has finally come. I'm slightly taken aback at his enthusiasm, but then again, neither of us have ever let our moral qualms get in the way of earning an admittedly not-so-honest pound. Especially given our present economic circumstances.

"So that's it, then? Just pickin' the stuff up from somewhere and sellin' it on the street?" I shrug. "Doesn't seem too bad.."

Alan and Tommy look at each other and I can tell it's not going to be as simple as I had just made it out to be.

"Well, Brady… that's not exactly all we'll be doin.'" Tommy clears his throat and continues. "Y'see, the drugs have come from England – some guy named Houston – Dennis, David, something like that. Anyway, this Houston guy pretty much corners every market he gets in on. He's pretty big time. I've got some friends that stand to lose a lot of money with him comin' in. Tomorrow night the drugs are bein' taken to a warehouse in this part of the city. Suitcases full of cocaine, all in separate cars. Now, my friend has discovered, through his contacts, where the pickup points are for three of the taxis. Our job is to secure the shipment in one of those taxis and deliver it to a separate drop-off location. All we gotta do is find a way to intercept one of the taxis and move that shipment somewhere else. No dealin', just movin'."

Tommy finishes his explanation and I stare at him, slack-jawed for a moment before turning to Peter who, thankfully, has the same dumbfounded look on his face. "Stealin' from a _crime boss?_ Tommy, are you fuckin' mental? We could be killed. Sent to prison." Pete shakes his head angrily. "This is too big, even for us."

Tommy returns Peter's stare evenly. "Pete, this is the big leagues. You wanted in, I got you in. Do you even know what I've done to convince the guys you're up for this? The payoff is huge – HUGE. We're talking thousands of pounds worth of cocaine. This is massive."

Alan has been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed this whole time, stone faced. "Peter has a point. It's not as easy as you're making it out to be." He runs his hand through his hair. "But the money's too big to pass up. I'm in, no question, but if Pete thinks it's too big for him, then we shouldn't force him into this. Besides, if he gets too nervous then he'll probably just fuck it up."

Pete leaps off the sofa. "I ain't gonna fuck it up!" Alan looks at me with a glint in his eye that Pete seems not to notice. "Alan, you may think you're big shit, but I'm just as good as you are!" He turns to Tommy. "I'm in."

Tommy grins and turns to me. "You've been quiet, Brady. What ye say?"

I look at Alan, who stares at me with that same glint in his eye. All that money. Finally my chance to get out of here. Do I really have a choice?

* * *

I can't sleep. I lie awake in my bed thinking of everything that could go wrong with our plan. In two days time, we'll either be rich or in prison. Or dead, I suppose.

"Bren, you awake?" Pete whispers from the floor beside my bed.

"Yeah."

He sits up, resting his arms on the side of my bed, his green eyes practically glowing in the moonlight spilling through my window. "Can't sleep either?" I shake my head and Pete waits a long time before speaking again. "I've been thinkin', Brendan. I'm not so sure about this." He sighs and picks at his nails nervously. "What if it goes wrong? What if you get arrested? Or Tommy? I don't know what I'd do without yer. Y'know all my life I've looked up to Tommy – wanted to be just like 'im. But when it comes to the long haul, I always thought it was gonna be me an' you. Wherever I pictured myself, it's always you there with me, thick as thieves."

"Peter…" I try to stop 'im. He doesn't have to tell me this. I already know. I've always known.

"No, Brendan. I have to tell you this now." I can hear the tightness in his throat. I've never seen Pete more out of sorts. "Because if something happens… I know we've had our rows, but you're my best mate. You're always gonna be, and I just wanted you to know that." He quickly lays back down, clearly upset.

I feel a tightening in my chest. He's right – anything could happen tomorrow night. But if something happens to Peter… he's all I got.

"It's all gonna be fine, Peter." I manage a smile – a measly, half-assed little smirk. "Tommy knows what he's doin'. It'll all go off without a hitch and we'll be rich enough to get outta here. Get our on place an' all. You and me. No Belfast, no drugs. Just you an' me.

Pete smiles and lays back down. Within moments I can hear his deep rhythmic breaths next to me. I don't know when it happened, but I feel like I've always wanted this. Just me and Peter. He's seen the worst of me, but he doesn't leave. Not for long, anyway. Sometimes I worry – given what I've done in the past, what I've felt – that I might need Peter more than I should. Might care about him more than I want to. But Pete's like a big brother to me – lookin' out for me when no one else does. If something happens to him tomorrow night… I don't know what I'll do.


	14. Chapter 14 And It All Goes Wrong

**Author's note: This is it, guys. The plan in action. Ocean's Eleven it's not, but whatcha gonna do? Also, I did enjoy writing the little church flashback. I like writing Brendan/Cheryl scenes. And I like to picture Teen!Brendan in a suit. :) Thanks for all of the lovely comments, you guys! It really means a lot to me that you all enjoy the story so much. Cheers! -Lyssie xx**

"Brendan, run!"

I feel the sting of pavement against my palms as I hit the ground. I look up for a moment, but I don't see Pete. Maybe he already made it to the end of the alley. Either way, I am alone. With a briefcase full of stolen cocaine and the approaching footsteps of one angry gangster.

I scramble to my feet, grab the case, and run as fast as I can. Over the sound of my own heart beating in my ears, my own breath, I can hear him gaining on me. I know I'm not going to make it to the end of the alley in time.

* * *

Earlier today. I promised Cheryl I'd take her to church, so I'm sitting in the pew next to her, pulling at my tie and trying not to get noticed by anyone. It's difficult to avoid notice when you're a gangly eighteen year-old with a handlebar mustache.

Cheryl can tell I'm nervous and she takes my hand in hers. "I'm really glad you took me to church, Bren." She smiles up at me. She's wearing her nicest pink dress and the most ridiculous hat I've ever seen on a child.

"Couldn't you go wit yer ma?" I know it doesn't sound very nice, but I'm still confused as to why she's brought me here.

"I wanted to go with _you_, Bren." She looks uncomfortable. "I don't like sayin' this, but – I don't like our minister very much." She taps her feet together nervously. "I've heard things about 'im. Not very nice things."

I scratch the back of my head. This suit really is stifling in this heat. "Well, you can't believe everything you hear, sis."

We sit in silence for a moment. I try not to look around too much, in case anyone notices me.

"Brendan, do you ever think God is testing you?" Cheryl's mindlessly thumbing through the hymnal. It's an odd thing, I think, to do something so childish and innocent while asking such a serious question.

"What'd ye mean?"

She looks at me. "Y'know – like he's makin' ye want to do things that you know ye shouldn't do."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. My mind instantly flashes to images of Alan, pinning me against the wall. Pete's eyes looking at me in the dark. Telling me he'll always be there for me.

Father MacDermott. And the not very nice things he's been doin'.

I try to smile at her, but I'm pretty sure it just comes out as a grimace. I can't think of anything to say, so I just spew the first boring cliché I can think of.

"Well…I guess God works in mysterious ways, Chez."

* * *

Alan and I are standing in an alley across the street from the designated pick-up point. Pete and Tommy are somewhere nearby. It's nearly 2 o'clock in the morning. We wait for the taxi.

Alan leans against the wall of the alley, crossing his arms, his eyes on the building across the street. He breaks eye contact to look at my shoe, which I'm subconsciously tapping on the pavement.

"Brendan, would you cut that out?"

I stop, angry that I let him see how nervous I am. I cross my arms and focus my attention across the street. Any minute a taxi will pull up in front of that building. A taxi that, unless we can pull this off, will be carrying a case full of cocaine off to an undisclosed location, never to be seen again. Unless we can pull this off.

I feel lightheaded. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear myself think. Suddenly, I feel Alan's hand on my forearm. "Brendan," I feel a warm sensation in my chest when he says my name, "Everything's going to be fine. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." I take a deep breath and feel my heartbeat slowing down. I know he can't promise me that. I know he can't promise me I'll be okay. But, for some reason, just hearing him say it makes me relax.

I swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I hear a car approaching. Anxiously, I step closer to Alan, to get a better view of the car. It's the taxi. Our moment has arrived.

Alan turns to me, an excited and nervous glint in his eye. "Okay, Brady. Let's do this."

Alan and I approach the taxi. I look to the door and see a large silhouette in the glass. No. This is not supposed to happen. We were supposed to have more time.

Alan and I reach the taxi as the door opens. A large man steps out carrying a briefcase. Scratch that – a VERY large man steps out carrying a briefcase. Full of cocaine.

I hear quick footsteps approaching and turn to see Tommy and Pete running at the man from the alleyways on either side of the building. They've got baseball bats. The man immediately swings the briefcase at Tommy, knocking him flat on his back. He pulls out a gun and I freeze. He's pulled a gun.

Next to me I hear a loud thump and I turn to see that Alan has punched the taxi-driver in the face. The squeal of tires echoes down the street as the taxi pulls away, leaving Alan holding his bloody fist. There's a gunshot.

A gunshot.

* * *

"Brendan, I need to talk to you."

Alan grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the bathroom. It's four o'clock.

"You've barely said anything to me since – I just want to know if you're okay."

The Hamill's cramped bathroom, with its smell of potpourri and the tiny window with the gingham curtain, isn't really the best setting for this conversation.

"Why are ye doin' this to me?" Alan's leaning against the counter, the mirror at his back. I try to move so I don't have to look at myself. "You don't even know me."

Alan crosses his arms. His expression, at first soft, quickly becomes slightly irritated. "That's what ye keep sayin'. Look, I don't know why, but…" He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I just wanna help ye."

"Ye call this helpin'?" I try to keep my voice down, but I'm finding it hard. "You're ruinin' my life! I was fine before you came along." It's a lie. And Alan calls me out on it.

"Fine wit yer ma beatin' the shit outta ya? Fine with lying to yourself about who you are?" Alan tries to hold put a hand on my arm, but I push him away.

"I'm not - " I pause to calm myself, lowering my voice. I look him in the eyes. "I'm not gay."

He holds my gaze for a moment.

I start for the door, I've had enough of this, but Alan blocks my way. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry." He pauses and looks at me. "Why are you so twisted up about this?"

He fixes me with those eyes. Those big brown eyes. I reach under my collar, pulling out the ring I keep on a chain around my neck. For nearly three weeks I've wondered what it is about Alan. Why I can't stay away. Now I know. It's Declan. It's Declan all grown up. Alive. The way he was meant to be. Shorter than me, thin, but muscular. Short brown hair and those big, brown eyes. Looking at Alan now I can feel Declan's breath on my face. I can smell the cologne he used to steal from his dad.

"Brendan, you can be happy."

He looks so earnest. He looks so _fucking_ earnest. And that's it. I can't take it anymore.

"Happy? Are you serious? What about this would make my life any better? My ma still beats me. My dad's still gone. We still don't have any money." I take a breath. "You're wrong. _This_ is wrong. It can't make you happy. All it does is ruin you."

Alan looks devastated, but he finally allows me to push past him. We're going to do this. Tonight, we're going to steal Danny Houston's cocaine. But when this is all over… I don't want to see him. Ever again.

* * *

My stomach drops as I feel Danny Houston's man grab the back of my shirt. As my body starts to jerk back, I hear a shot ring out, echoing through the alley. The hand lets go and I twist my body, hitting the wall. Danny's goon is lying on the ground, grabbing his shoulder and moaning in pain.

Pete is standing behind a dumpster, a shocked expression on his face. Holding the gun.

"Peter…"

I look down at the man again. Shot in the shoulder. He'll live. And he'll tell the others about us. Pete could shoot him now. End it right here. But would he? I look up at him and he stares back, his eyes wide as saucers. Frozen in place.

I slowly walk over to where he's standing and take the gun from his trembling hands. He turns to look at me. "Brendan…"

"Peter, let's just get the fuck out of here."


	15. Chapter 15 Aftermath

**Author's Note: Once again I'd like to thank everyone who's left me a comment here on FF or Tumblr or DS. You guys are so awesome and I frankly can't believe that you all still read this. Chapter 15. WHAT? Enjoy!**

The rain is drumming hard on the roof of the car as Alan speeds along the road. I look over at Pete, leaning his head against the window. He hasn't said one word since we left. Our bags, hastily crammed with clothing, sit between us on the backseat. Every few minutes Tommy will lean over to Alan and whisper something I can't quite make out over the pounding of the rain.

As we drive through the trees the rain subsides, coming in spurts every now and then as we pass through a clearing. Further and further through the trees, deeper into the woods. The road becomes bumpier. Tommy's asides to Alan become less frequent. Still, Pete says nothing. We've driven for a couple hours now and he still won't even look at me.

More time passes and finally we stop. It's absolutely pouring now as Alan puts the car in park and shuts off the ignition. Though it's midday now, it's nearly pitch-black with storm clouds overhead, obscured by the canopy of trees. It feels as though the night hasn't ended. Like the longest night of our lives isn't really over.

I peer between the front seats, past Tommy and Alan's shoulders, up the drive. At the house. Alan, always one to break the tension, turns around, grinning at us from the driver's seat. "Grab your stuff, boys! We're here."

* * *

"**YOU SHOT HIM**?"

Tommy's friend Paddy paces in front of us in his living room. Alan, Pete and I are shoulder-to-shoulder on his sofa. Tommy sits in his chair, nursing his grazed shoulder. The briefcase is on the coffee table.

I'm a little surprised that this is Tommy's "big contact." Paddy's place is kind of a dump. The sofa creaks as the three of us shift uncomfortably. I notice Pete's hand grip his knee tighter out of the corner of my eye.

"I didn't know what else to do." I glance over at Pete. It's the first thing he's said since we got here. "I didn't kill him."

"Well, you should have!" Paddy is furious. He wheels on Tommy. "I thought you said we could trust these guys. You show me a couple o' kids and tell me I can trust 'em, I trust 'em. Now look what's happened!" He point angrily, "You've gone and got yourself shot and your dickhead of a brother had to go and fuck everything up!"

"He's not a dickhead." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "He saved my life."

"Shut up, Brady!" Paddy turns to Pete again. "Like I said, if you were going to shoot him, you should have bloody well killed him." He takes a breath and paces a few more times, calming himself a bit. "Look, lucky for all of us, he can't very well tell the hospital he got a shed-load of cocaine stolen off him by a bunch of kids tonight. But Danny's men'll be lookin' for ya now."

Alan shifts next to me. "So… what can we do?"

Tommy looks up from his chair, still holding a towel to his arm. "There's nothing we can do."

"Don't be ridiculous, surely there's something."

Paddy sighs. "Well, I'm gonna shift this as soon as possible. I've got some lads comin' to the house first thing in the morning to take it off my hands." Paddy nudges the case with his knee. "To be honest, I hate having all this shit in my house." He turns back to us. "I'd tell you to get outta town for a while. Maybe a week or so."

Alan shrugs, "I don't even know where we'd go."

Paddy thinks about this a moment before heading into the other room. "Hold on a sec." He returns dangling a ring of keys in front of himself. "My uncle has a cabin – out in the woods. He gave me a key to it if I ever get myself in too much trouble."

"Nice uncle." I mutter.

"You can stay there for a while." Paddy takes one of the keys from the ring and chucks it to Alan, giving Pete and I another glance. "Next time, don't take the kids, yeah?"

* * *

Alan, Tommy and I are checking out the cabin. There's a small kitchen, a bathroom with a shower, and two bedrooms – one single bed each. Lucky for us, the sofa Pete's parked himself on folds out.

The rain is pounding on the roof of the cabin. The power is out as well. Alan found some emergency candles in one of the kitchen cupboards and now the whole room flickers with a soft glow. Pete's sitting on the couch. He hasn't said a word since we left this morning.

Tommy, Alan and I stand in the living room awkwardly for a moment before Tommy turns to us. "I think I need to talk to Pete alone, if that's okay." Pete doesn't look up, his eyes fixed on the floor. Alan and I nod and Alan grabs one of the candles off the table, motioning me to follow him.

We walk down the hall to one of the bedrooms. Alan sets the candle on the bedside table and sits on the bed. I stand in the middle of the room before finally sitting on the floor. I don't want to make things more awkward than they already are.

"Paddy was wrong, y'know." Alan's sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking down at me. "You didn't fuck it up. This isn't your fault."

"I'm worried about Pete."

Alan smiles. "Pete'll be fine. He's so desperate to be just like Tommy. He just has to realize that it's harder than it looks. Being tough isn't about never being afraid – it's about never showing that you are."

"Pete's one of the bravest blokes I know." I swallow the lump in my throat. I don't know what's got me so choked up. It's seeing Pete so unhinged. I've never seen him like this before. And it makes me nervous.

"You're pretty brave yourself."

My stomach flips and I take a deep breath. I try to shrug it off. "Tell me somethin' I don't know." We sit in awkward silence for a while. I watch the candle cast weird shadows on the wall.

"Y'know…" Alan shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "We still haven't talked about it."

"What's there to talk about?" I tense up. Why can't he just forget it? Why does there have to be all this talking?

"Brendan, we can't just pretend nothing happened." That's just the thing.

"Why can't we?" I look up at him. "I already told ya, I'm not… It was a one-off. It meant nothin'."

I stand, turning to leave before he can get a word in, but he stops me.

"I won't bring it up, then." I turn back to look at him. Alan is sitting very calmly on the bed. He looks almost sad. "And eventually I'll go back to my parents' house and no one around here will know your little secret."

I put my hand on the doorknob, but I hesitate a moment. "What're you playin' at?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing. I just give up."

* * *

A few hours later, Tommy and Alan are taking the rooms with the single beds, leaving Pete and I to share the fold-out sofa. He still hasn't said a word to me, but Tommy insists that everything's going to be alright.

I climb in under the covers, leaning over to blow out the candle on the end-table, leaving us to lay side-by-side in complete darkness. The house is silent, except for the noise of the rain on the roof. Every now and then a flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed by the low rumble of thunder.

After a few minutes I decide to break the ice. I need Pete to talk to me again. I need to know he's going to be alright. "I told Cheryl we were going on a surprise camping trip." Nothing. "She's probably worried sick about me now, what with the rain. You should meet her sometime, she's a real kick." I roll over to look at Pete and he's just staring blankly up at the ceiling. I keep looking at him for a few seconds, but he doesn't pay me any mind.

"Pete, just say something to me. Anything at all. I just need to know you're gonna be okay again."

He finally turns to look at me. "I could've killed 'im. To save you."

* * *

_I'm lying in the dark, on the floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets. I'm in a cocoon of warmth. I have a faint realization that I'm in my room back at the flat. The moon is shining through the window, casting a pale glow on the wall by my bed. Suddenly I feel a leg brush against mine. I turn over and find myself staring into a pair of big, brown eyes. "Declan."_

_Declan's boyish grin lights up the room. It's all I can see. Without thinking my hand comes up to touch his face. His round, freckled cheek. He wraps an arm around me and I feel safe. He brings his face closer and I can feel his breath. He brushes his lips against mine ever so slowly. Timid, exploring._

_I move my hand, wrapping my arm around his neck, pulling myself closer to him, the full length of our bodies pressing together. I can't think about anything else but how he feels next to me. Nothing beyond my door, nothing beyond us, lying under this blanket. The soft touch of his lips, his hand brushing the skin of my back. His warmth. The smell of him like…fresh-cut grass, and sweat, and fresh air – the smell of a boy in the summertime only sweeter. More familiar._

_And then there's a light. Not a warm glow, not a friendly light, but a blinding light. The blanket is thrown off. I twist my neck to see my mother, looming large, taking up the whole doorframe. She appears almost twelve feet tall. She's saying words, but I can't make out what they are. Only screeching noises fill my ears. Deafening screeching._

_I turn back to Declan. But something's different about him. Something's…colder. I pull back. Red marks. All around his neck. His face is pale. His eyes are slightly bulging out of their sockets. The red marks. All around._

_I turn back to the doorway. But it's not my mother. It's Father MacDermott. And he's coming closer. His hands are reaching out for me. Those hands are trying to grab me._

I wake up in a cold sweat. Pete's shaking me. "Brendan, Brendan wake up."

I turn over, afraid I've talked in my sleep.

"You were havin' a nightmare." Through the dark I can make out a slight smirk. He looks out the window. "Can't say I blame ye. We've all had a bit of a scare."

Pete lies back down, tucking himself back in. We lay in silence for a while before he finally speaks to me. "I'll be alright, Brendan." I turn to look at him, and he meets my stare. "It's you I'm worried about."


	16. Chapter 16 Opening Closed Doors

**Author's Note: I feel like I'm on a roll this summer! Is this chapter too dramatic? It probably is. I should write for a Spanish soap opera. Anyway, as always, thanks for the kind words! Hope you enjoy! **

"GOAL! GOOOOAL!" Pete runs around the yard, pumping his fists in the air. We found a football in one of the bedroom closets and Pete's just kicked it past me between the trees I'm guarding.

Pete flashes me a huge smile. "Brady, it's like you're not even tryin'!"

I stand with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. "When'd you get so good?" It's a rhetorical question. Pete's always been better at football than I am.

"I've been practicin'. Gonna try out for the community league next month." Pete's not even winded and I feel like I'm dyin'. Sport isn't exactly my thing.

"Runs in the family!"

Tommy and Alan are on the porch, playing cards. Alan hasn't said anything to me since yesterday. I don't think the others have noticed, but I have. He's barely looked at me. It's funny. It's what I wanted. For Alan to leave me alone. And now he has. Good. Fine.

* * *

It's a short walk from the cabin to the narrow stream that cuts through the woods. Twigs crack under my feet and every now and then drops of water fall from the leaves of the trees that were soaked in last night's storm. The stream comes into view and Alan's already there, sitting on a log, drawing lines in the wet dirt with his finger. A branch cracks under my shoe and he turns to look at me, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Oh, it's just you." He turns back to the stream and I join him on the log. I like the outdoors. So much space out here. I don't feel trapped. Alan and I sit silently for a few minutes, watching the stream.

Finally, I break the silence. "You haven't spoken to me in two days."

Alan picks up a rock, turning it over in his hands. "I thought that was what you wanted." He tosses the rock into the stream where it lands with a splash, then turns to look at me. "And frankly, Brendan, I just can't deal with you anymore."

Alan sighs and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. "Brendan, that first day I met you I saw an angry kid who could control himself. And when you kissed me I knew – I knew you wanted to be happy." Alan pauses, hesitant, waiting for me to push him away or reply with some sarcastic remark. But I don't.

"I thought that I could do it. I thought I knew you – that you were just like me. But I realize now… that I can'." He shakes his head. "I know you want to be happy – that you just want to be free. But you're too scared. You're afraid that if you let anyone see the real you they'll push you away. We all feel like that sometimes." I feel tears staring to gather at the corners of my eyes. He stares at me for a moment. "Brendan, I need you to say something."

I clear my throat – it feels tight. "What do you want me to say? That you're right? That I'm scared? You're right, I am! I'm afraid of losing everything."

"Brendan, you can't live your life behind closed doors."

"No, you can't! Because they open, believe me, I know." I'm standing by the stream yelling at him now. I feel the tears start to roll down my face. "They open and they rip yer life apart. And you're left with nothin'."

Alan stands, shaking his head. "Brendan, I know it feels like you can't be happy, but you can be. If you don't take a chance, how will you ever be happy?" He takes a few steps toward the trees and turns back to me. "I can't make you take chances. And you obviously don't want to take one on me. But I hope that someday you'll find someone who's worth the risk."

Alan disappears into the woods and the tears just come pouring out. I think about Declan, how young I was – how careless. How happy he made me. But you can't keep your happiness behind closed doors. Because sooner or later they'll open. So that's the question, I guess. Who would you rather open that door – you or someone else?

* * *

I put the bottle to my lips and take a swig. Pete laughs. "You really got yer priorities straight, don't ya?"

We're sitting on the floor in one of the bedrooms, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. "Well, my ma certainly won't be missing this one." It feels good to just be having a laugh like old times.

Pete takes the bottle from me. "Remember that time last summer when we went campin' with the lads and their girls – spent the whole weekend smashed. And you got off with Barry's girl – what's her name? Irene?"

"Eileen." I chuckle. That had been a good time. Good ol' Eileen. Why she'd gone out with Barry I don't know – it was clear to everyone that she hated him. She had a soft spot for me, though, especially with a few drinks in her.

"What'd he do to get you so mad?"

That's right. I'd forgot about that. Barry'd always been putting me down. Spent the whole weekend telling all the blokes what a pussy I was – makin' up lies about me. So I'd had enough. Eileen had been battin' her lashes at me the whole weekend.

"The look on Barry's face when he came in that tent!" I smile at the memory.

Pete cackles drunkenly. "Don't know why he was so surprised – you could hear you two going at it from the beach!"

Pete and I laugh for a while, remembering the ensuing fight. The punches thrown. Eileen running from the tent, barely clothed.

Our laughter subsides after a while. Pete looks at me. "Have you spoken to her since?"

"Once in a while. We go out sometimes." Eileen and I had stayed in touch. Truth is, I like her. She's a spit-fire, that bird. Won't take shit from anyone. We're a lot alike that way.

"Sure ya do." Pete winks at me. I don't know if it's the whiskey, but his eyes shine unusually bright. I think about what Alan said earlier, about living life behind doors. About taking chances.

"Pete," I take another swig, for courage. The bottle is nearly empty now and we're both pretty far gone. "You and me – we'll be together forever right?"

Pete nods drunkenly, taking the bottle from my hand. "Definitely. I'd do anything for you."

"Really?"

"Of course I would. Brendan, I love you more than my own brother. I mean it. Tommy's a pain in the ass." He starts giggling again. "I mean, you are too, but -"

Before I even realize it, I'm leaning forward, kissing him. It only lasts a moment or two before Pete pushes me back, shocked.

"What the fuck, Brady?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

I sit, frozen. Why the hell did I just do that? Was it the whiskey? This floating, happy feeling I had when Pete laughs? An impulse. A stupid stupid impulse. And now he's using my last name again.

"I just thought -"

"What? What could you have possibly been thinkin'?" Pete's rosy cheeks have turned to red now. He's getting angry. "That I wanted you to? We were having a laugh, Brendan and you had to go and ruin it!"

I start to panic. I just want him to stop yelling.

"What, are you queer now? Is that it?" I stand up, stammering. "Barry was right, you're a fucking queer!"

I lunge at him – fists flying. I just want him to shut up. I want him to forget what I've just done. I don't want it to be true.

Pete deflects my drunken punches and shoves me away. "Don't touch me, Brady. You disgust me."

We stand there staring at each other a moment. My gut twists into knots. Pete looks about ready to punch me. I rub my eye with the back of my hand and I'm surprised to feel tears there. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted him to know. I just hoped he might be worth the chance.

I turn and run from the room. Pete following, I pass through the living room. Alan and Tommy are folding out the couch and Tommy stops, giving us a strange look. "What are you two shouting about?" I ignore him, heading for the door. "Brady, where are you going, it's pouring out there!"

I snatch the key off the counter, running toward the car as soon as I'm outside. But the screen door doesn't slam behind me. Instead, Pete runs after me, his bare feet thumping across the porch. I feel the tiny stones dig into my heels as I run across the gravel to the car.

I hear the second car door slam and am vaguely aware of Pete sitting next to me in the passenger seat. He's saying something, but the rain has picked up again, drowning him out. I can't listen to him. I've ruined everything. He's going to tell. Alan's going to tell.

"Brendan, stop!" The car kicks up gravel as I take off down the long driveway, toward the main road. I don't know where I'm going – I just have to get away. "BRENDAN!"

But I can't get away. He's still right here. My best friend. Who thinks I'm disgusting. Who knows my secrets. He'll always be here. I can't get away.

We reach the main road and I take a hard right, not even looking for traffic.

"Brendan, you're going to get us killed! Stop the car!" I've ruined the only good thing I have in my life.

I can't breath. My brain feels like it's overloading and my heart is going a mile a minute. My eyes are burning with tears, but through them I can see a white light. It's getting closer. Sometimes I just wish I could leave it all. Just finish it. I get so tired – so fucking tired. I could. Right now. The light is blinding me now and I can't hear or feel anything. I'm so close. No more beatings. No more shame. No lies. All the fucking bullshit – done. I'm so close.

* * *

Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

Rain on my face.

I hear the faint sounds of someone shouting. My limbs are tingling. There's a sudden shock of pain in my body, but I can't pinpoint the source.

Everything keeps fading in and out. I try so hard – so hard to form words. I don't know what's happening. I don't know where I am. I remember… there was someone with me.

"Where's Pete?"

Just as the words leave my lips, everything is black and silent. I'm so far away.


End file.
